Nightly
by Gilly.Flowers
Summary: The night it had happened wouldn't have been looked at as anything extraordinarilty different- The blizzard had been doing London in for days now- rendering the whole of Fleet street lifeless and white- And again, he hadn't a choice on choosing stairs, really- Not that he would've thought differently of their nightly routine.
1. Chapter 1

**A.N. It's been a week, I think I'm over my attention-phobia. If that's what it even is, I don't really care. Anyways i think this little...story will be two chapters, so yay. I wrote this a while ago and I lost all my energy about it, but I'm still going to finish it. It's a test, I think! I wish this was longer, but it isn't, XD And i don't know if it'll be M rated... Most-likely not, 'cuz im a wimp, but anyways I hope whoever cares enough to read this bastardly crap enjoys it!**

**Any and every review, compliment, and of course ****_advice _****is appreciated greatly :3 -Gillies**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd, movie or musical. All rights go to Tim Burton and Stephen Sondheim.**

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The night it had happened wouldn't have been looked at as anything extraordinarily different- the only actual exception was that he had taken the stairs from his parlor instead of the ones outside. It was cold out, and it looked like hell was freezing over with a roaring blizzard. To be simply said, he hadn't much of a choice, really.

And even with the snows and winds blowing her walls down, and even over the mighty fire she had set going to warm her toes, the baker who had been lounging half asleep on her settee had heard him descending his stairs loud and clear.

She reached the parlor doorway when he reached the flooring. He looked at her, surprised to see that someone else in the house was wake for a moment, but she was less fazed; she simply gave a knowing smile and walked into the dark shop without much hesitation.

She figured he wouldn't have wanted it anyway, so she didn't bother getting him a candle.

Shuffling across the floor to slip behind her counter, Mrs. Lovett listened for him to follow her into the black as pitch room. Eventually he did, taking his seat at the table by the window, sliding into the booth with a soft grunt. Lovett dropped to the floor- her knees popping and cracking with quick, sharp pains- fishing around in the shelves until her nails clinked against cool glass. She grabbed at the neck of the bottle, pulling it out with a scrapping noise that made both of the room's occupants wince.

Wouldn't want to wake anyone else up.

After she grabbed a clean glass she set it and the bottle down at his table. He glanced at her as a _thanks, Mrs. Lovett,_ then blinked as she poured out his drink.

''Welcome, love.'' She said quietly; then when he didn't say anything else- didn't do anything besides grabbing his drink and dragging towards him- she left him to his peace.

The next night it happened again. The blizzard had been doing London in for days now- rendering the whole of Fleet street lifeless and white- and it seemed to say like it wasn't going to relent any time soon. _("Dogged weather it is, all we get aroun' 'ere- bloody dogged weather." )_

And again, he hadn't a choice on choosing stairs, really.

And again, she paused at the parlor door to regard him with a small smirk and her hand on her hip, before they both went into the shop.

_And again_, she left him to drink alone.

''Your welcome, love.''

A near week went by, and a couple of days of that near week since the blinding blizzard calmed down to small down-falls that blanketed the old, muddy ice and snow.

He came down later than usual tonight; but he must have taken a custom to using his stairs because he descended them with no other thought, and they both met at the bottom. Not that he would've thought differently of their nightly routine.

She placed his glass down in front of him and he lifted it up without a single noise, taking a swig and grimacing lightly from the burn. She patted his shoulder and turned to leave the darkness, but he grabbed her wrist when it started to slip off his shirt.

And she froze.


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N. Hello! This is chapter two :3 Btw I was rubbing cold, raw, _cold cold cold_ chicken before i wrote this, so if it's alittle crappy, that's probably why. Chicken fumes and all, you know. And, as you will see, i wimped out on the M rating- that's not that big of a surprise nor a disappointment to me, so... Enjoy? -Gillies. P.s. I forgot to mention this, i know it's alil cheesy but everyone needs cheese in their lives, don't you think? Anyways, what i wanted to say is a big giant Thank You to thelovelyflorencelovett and Bellatrix Nellie Le-Lovett for all their reviews and what-not, it really helped me feel good about what I share :3 Thank you. **

**There! Now to the story! *Toby's cute little drum-roll* **

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney todd, movie nor musical. All rights go to Tim Burton and Stephen Sondheim._**

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_And she froze._

Mrs. Lovett blinked, her eyes beginning to sting from staring at nothing. His grip on her wrist didn't relax. She swallowed, looking at the floor as she whispered- ''Mr. T?''

Was he drunk already? Was he going to..._try_ something? He couldn't be drunk by just one glass- unless he had been drinking _up there._ But then, why had he come down? To drink more?..._To try something?_

She heard him set his glass down on the table, the sharp _chink_ echoing through the dark. She heard his chair scrap back, he arm being pulled back just slightly as he stood.

''Mr. T?'' Mrs. Lovett repeated, her free hand palming out on her stomach.

It was a heavy moment before- ''What?" He asked, his voice low and calm. As if this holding your landlady hostage by- not only touching her, but by holding tight on her arm was _completely_ commonplace. Mrs. Lovett bit her lip; a small, unsure smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

''You do know yer 'olding my wrist, right?" She was swung around after that, and Sweeney's free hand was on her arm before she could stumble. She stared up at him- he was arm's length away, so maybe he wasn't going to do anything- or any_one._

''I know.'' He replied, and they regarded each other for a long while. ''Can you...'' He started, but stopped himself, looking down at his gin glass. The hand on her arm left and pulled the glass up to Sweeney's mouth.

''Can I what, love?'' Mrs. Lovett looked down at the empty table, inappropriate thoughts running through her in rivers. Sweeney grip on her wrist twisted, and she snapped her attention back up to him.

''What do you want, love?'' Her voice was just a tad bit demanding, she was getting cold in here. She put a hand on the one holding onto her. Sweeney looked into his glass, his gin suddenly alot more interesting. His hand let go of her wrist, falling back to his side. Her heart dropped, but she quickly hailed it back up into it's rightful place before she started crying or some other foolish nonsense. She took a step back, scratching at her skin where he had touched her, where it was still warm because of him.

He must have panicked.

He must have panicked because he reached out for her again, perfectly content in grabbing her hand and forcing her to stay there.

He didn't like how quiet it was at night, when he was drinking by himself. He sat for hours at that table with his burdens of demons pushing down harder with each drink. He didn't like being alone- there was too much to think about when grew bored with flipping over the same words again and again. _We'll get the judge, we'll get him. We'll get the judge..._

And it was _really_ hard to think of anything other than the little baker when he was in the middle of her damn shop. Especially when he was trying to think of something other than what he had been thinking of all day. _We'll get him, we'll get the judge._

He didn't believe in it utterly and wholly, but a few nights ago something in him had said that he actually _missed_ her excessive chattering. It was ridiculous. But non-the-less he was willing to see if having her there on the opposite side of the table, talking quietly and slowly as they drank together, in the dark of her dingy little pie shop would be enough to give a tiny trace of peace to his mind.

Mrs. Lovett, however, took his lunge as something entirely different than his fear of solitude. And before she could stop and think about his reasons, or her reasons, she was right under his nose; her heart beating hard inside of her throat. He stared down at her, and she watched his eyes flicker down to her parted lips before he tore them away and eyed the table leg like it alone was the cause for all his horrible un-doings. He went to say something, looking back at her with a small desperation- but she shook her head, leaning forward on her tip-toes and smashed her lips to his.

And after a moment of surprise, being however slow he was from the drink, Sweeney found himself kissing her back- his focus completely on her caressing lips. His arms snaked around her waist, tugging her closer to his person. Her arms wrapped around his neck and- and she smelt _good._

This took him by surprise; not that he had expected her to smell like dead corpses and charred flesh or anything, but he hadn't expected her to smell _nice_- not...that he ever thought about how Mrs. Lovett might smell...

Mrs. Lovett threaded her fingers through his labyrinth of black hair, listening to the harsh intakes of breath he took through his nose. She mewled into him, pulling him towards the parlor rather blindly. Of course, (being a man and all,) Sweeney followed after her, growling softly when she pulled away and ended the lovely kiss.

But her smirk made it okay.

She grabbed his hand and kissed in between his knuckles, pulling him through the parlor. Toby was asleep on the settee, snoring open-mouthed into the rough fabric of the cushions, a thin blanket on his shoulders. Mrs. Lovett uncurled one of his fingers and held it against her mouth, signalling him into silence as she glanced over at Toby, a lop-sided smile on her face as she and Sweeney tripped into the hallway to her bedroom.

They landed hard on the wall, Lovett's back pressed against the cool wallpaper, her head bashing against a picture frame. She pulled her head away with a quiet hiss, reaching up over her head to stop the frame's ear-splitting scrapping. Sweeney kept Mrs. Lovett pinned to the wall, his hands on the wall with her panting face in between. She was staring out the hall doorway, her eyes wide as she listened for Toby's sleepy-''Mum?''

After a heartbeat that felt like ages, Sweeney's mouth descended on her neck when he decided the coast was clear. Lovett squirmed and tried not muffle her moans by clamping her lips shut, smiling warily as she continued to wait for any sign of Toby's consciousness. Sweeney didn't seem to like having only half of her attention, so he grabbed her shoulder and lead her towards her bedroom door. She didn't protest (being head-over-heels as she was for the man.)

Shoving her down into the bed, Sweeney stared down at her. They were both breathing heavily, but her quick intakes of breath were a thousand times more attention-enrapturing than his. Mrs. Lovett leant up on her arm, her breasts straining against her bodice with each fill of her lungs. She held a hand out, smiling promiscuously up at him. Her fingers twitched when he grabbed it and stepped forward to place his hand by her rib, their noses brushing as he leaned forward. Lovett's lustful expression melted away, replaced by one that sent guilty pangs through his stomach. She stared up at with brown eyes full of so much love and adoration and understanding it hurt something bad to look at. So when he drew away, straightening up beside the bed; her hand dropping; her smile fading.

''Thanks for the gin.'' He muttered, glaring at her because that's all he knew to do- then he turned and left her room, slamming the door shut.

With his hand still on the doorknob, as if it had grow into his skin, trying to persuade him to stay, Sweeney hesitated. He shook his head, trying half-heartedly to clear steamy images of the baker, letting go of the door and stalking back into the pie shop to finish his drink in peace.

At least now he had something to think about.


End file.
